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Chapter Eight

Dominic

“You killed Kyle,” Swayze states, but it’s to me. Her voice is far off as if she’s sewing what she saw into reality. “You killed for me.”

There’s something to be said about killing a person. It’s a heady rush of endorphins that alter your brain chemistry. My muscles feel tight in my skin, and the small space of this car is making it unbearably hot. Even with the air conditioner on, I’m on fire. I’ve barely reached the outskirts of town, and I remember there being a side road around here. I’m studying the passing trees for the path when a hand grasps my thigh.

Peering over at Swayze, her eyes are illuminated by the dash. They sparkle with exhilaration and lust. Then it hits me that it was her first involvement in a murder. I almost feel like I should get her some kind of present to commemorate the event. It might not have been by her hand, but endorphins don’t discriminate. She’s feeling the rush, too. Her palm glides up my leg farther, and my semi-chub from the adrenaline is now rock-hard.

I clear my throat. “Swayze.”

“Daddy,” she coos .

In one word, she’s found a way to shatter my walls. I’ve committed many sins, but this has to be the most debauched. Even worse than murder.

“Swayze, you can’t.” I breathe heavily.

“I can’t what, Daddy?” She leans into me and places her lips on my neck, her proximity sending electricity down my spine. “Take what’s mine? Because from where I’m sitting,” she grabs my hardened length through my jeans, “I can do whatever I want to you.”

She licks at my flesh before sinking her teeth into me. I suck in a sharp breath at the pleasurable pain and at the immorality. Her fingers fumble with the buttons of my jeans. I can’t let her do this. I can’t. Grabbing one of her wrists, I hold it between us.

“Stop, Swayze,” I growl, stealing a glance at her over our joined hands.

“But I want a taste,” she whines, poking out her bottom lip.

I groan and the pressure in my balls tighten with anticipation. My gaze catches the side road obscured by the trees and I swing the car down the path. My hand is still holding her wrist as I quickly park by some brush. I throw the car into park and jump out into the muggy night .

The space does nothing for the need and desire building in me. I run my hands through my hair and tug on the strands. “Fuck!” I roar into the night.

The devil on my shoulder is goading me. What’s one time? Right. One time and I’ll be so disgusted with myself that I won’t be able to look at her again. But the angel is screaming at me to think… think… morals. This is my daughter . The devil stokes that little voice that’s been small but growing along with my need.

It’s wrong!

I’m waging war with myself when a door squeaks open. I think she will come up to me and force herself on me, but I’m wrong. A hollow pit forms in my stomach. I’m… what? Disappointed? I turn, shaking my head, hoping my morals will right themselves. But then I see her, and the blood in my veins freeze.

I don’t see my little girl anymore. I see a woman.

“I mean, if you’re not going to take care of me. Then I’ll have to take care of myself,” she informs with the car door wide open, naked from the waist down, and her legs spread wide. She rubs circles over her bundle of nerves, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

She has her claws in me, and I’m not sure I want my baby girl to let go.